


Unlucky Bastards

by thisisanerror



Category: Undertale (Video Game), underswap
Genre: Anxiety, College AU, Dependence - Freeform, Depression, Drinking, Haphephobia, Human AU, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisanerror/pseuds/thisisanerror
Summary: Ink is an art college dropout; he's unemployed, very depressed and may have a little bit of alcohol problems. During one of his nights out drinking his life away, he meets Error, a constantly annoyed bartender and from then on they hit it off.





	Unlucky Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here in AO3 so i'm still figuring out how the website works in general. Just some heads up: I don't consider myself a big fan of the sanses, I know a handful of them but there's many others that I haven't heard of or know nothing about. My friend Quonit is the one who educates my on the sans history, and the one who made me fall in love with the ship of Ink and Error. But enough explanation, I hope y'all enjoy the story.

Ink stared at his finished canvas with an expression that could only be described as utter disappointment. He had spent weeks on this one piece, put so much effort in trying to make it perfect and now he could only feel dissatisfaction when looking at it.  
“Mediocre.”   
The painting wasn’t by all means mediocre, it showed a silhouette walking in the distance and a very abstract and surreal landscape around them, a warm color palette was used for the center and a colder one for the edges. Surrealism and abstraction were deeply ingrained in Ink’s artstyle and he loved it, he truly did, but every artist have bad days and for couple of months Ink had been experiencing an intense art block.  
He could have just found a distraction, something to take his mind off for a while until his artistic inspiration came back but Ink was not only a pain in the ass, he was also stubborn. He told himself he was going to keep trying no matter how stressful it got. ‘No sleep for you tonight Ink’. He murmured to himself with a tired smile as he went back to painting. The art room was engulfed in a strong and toxic smell of oil paint and turpentine but Ink wasn’t bothered at all. The fact that the art room was also his bedroom probably played a part on it, being exposed day and night to the vapors definitely clouded your sense of smell.  
Maybe with some reddish touches in the center this will look more expressive, the artist thought to himself, it sure lacks some saturated colors. He trapped some cadmium red from his palette and added it to the painting. Once finished, he stepped back to admire his creation; an intriguing amalgamation of colors, a compelling abstract landscape with a surreal atmosphere and the silhouette in the background walking on a cadmium red path. It truly was a beautiful piece.   
And for some unspoken reason, Ink hated it.  
Everything about it, every single part of it. He grabbed the canvas by the sides and tossed it across the room. He was pissed, or how he liked to say, about to fucking lose it. Ink sure enjoyed making fun of the stereotype that depicted artists as extravagant and batshit crazy creatures, but being honest, he was sure he fitted both categories. He wanted to scream, step on his creation which was laying on the floor, reduce it to shreds. It was just worthless, just like everything around him, everything was worthless, especially hims-  
“Now now Ink, what the hell are you thinking...” he hushed in an upbeat tone to himself while rubbing his temples “Look where your thoughts are taking you, this is totally not like you pal.”  
The young artist turned around towards his small mirror which hanged above his nightstand and noticed his tone didn’t match his somber expression. He also noticed his eyes getting welled up as if he was about to start crying, god he was becoming so damn sensitive lately. Ink dried his eyes with his sleeve and forced himself to smile.  
“Aye, that’s much better, everything is fine, everything is absolutely fine.”  
But it wasn’t. Ink sat on the floor for a couple of minutes, eventually letting himself lay down on the dirty rug that covered the entirety of the room. His mental health was a topic that always popped in his mind after managing to avoid a nervous breakdown. Ink’s mind and thought process was truly an enigma and not in a positive way. The young man preferred being in denial about it, but it was obvious to everyone else. Ink stood up, enough dwelling, he thought to himself, it was time to deal with his issues his own way.  
“Time to go for a couple of drinks.”

\---

Ink’s favorite club was strategically located 3 blocks from his run down apartment, lucky for him since he didn’t have a car to go any further; not that he would be able to drive after the night was over. Transportation had never been an issue for the frustrated artist, he would always rely on his feet or his friend’s car, specially Dream’s, but now... let's say at least he still could rely on his feet. He shook his head, avoiding the intrusive thoughts again as he put on a coat and a brown scarf before heading out.  
The club was called ‘La Esquina’, Ink wasn’t sure how to pronounce it but he knew it meant ‘The Corner’ in spanish. Despite being in a not so safe part of town, the place was actually fairly decent and pretty popular around town. There was always music blasting, playing songs that Ink really didn’t know the lyrics to, since most were in spanish, but he enjoyed the rhythm of most of them anyways. What he liked the most about that particular club is that the bar wasn’t right next to the dance floor which meant there was no need to scream for the barman to hear him as the music wasn’t too loud.  
Ironically, the one thing Ink hated about that place was the bartender himself, and it was a mutual feeling. His name he never bothered to remember, but ever since they met the nickname Nightmare stuck with him. They didn’t actually meet at the bar, but during their sophomore year in highschool. Nightmare was his best friend’s twin brother, and for some unholy reason, his complete opposite, it truly astounded him how they both came out of the same mother. Dream insisted his brother was not always like that; he used to be the nicest person ever, he would say whenever Ink complained about Nightmare, but things happened and now he’s going through an angry phase.  
And what a phase, it’s been 8 years of interacting with Nightmare and he was still an absolute bitch. ‘Just a phase my ass’, Ink thought, smirking to himself.  
He could hear the music from the club getting closer as he crossed the poorly illuminated street. There were many cars parked outside the club, it was a friday night after all and the place was packed every weekend. He walked through the entrance with his ID in hand, the bouncer took a quick look at it before letting him pass.  
Ink made his way across the dancefloor to his favorite part of the club, bumping into a bunch of couples as he walked past them, lucky for him there was a free stool right next to the bar. He looked around trying to spot Nightmare as he sat down; despite not liking that ‘narcissistic asshole’ as Ink liked to call him, he was the only connection he had to his old group of friends and would always update him on anything he wanted to know. Nightmare was constantly fixated on the negative, talking shit about every single member of the group and complaining about every single thing he considered annoying; a complete fucking downer. But Ink didn’t have the ground to complain, he just wanted to hear how everyone was doing even if it came from Nightmare the asshole. Today he was having no luck, weird since there was only two people working at the bar including Nightmare, it shouldn’t be too hard spotting him. 

There was something new though, well, someone new. The frustrated artist couldn’t make out the face since the mysterious individual was busy making drinks and not facing him. The stranger had a dark complexion and very coily black hair, it was short and had the sides shaved. He was also pretty tall, taller than Nightmare even. After a couple of minutes mixing drinks he turned around and Ink could finally take a good look.

“Oh no he’s hot...” He said under his breath once he saw his face. 

The stranger wasn’t exactly hot but there was something about him that compelled Ink to stare. His brows were furrowed making his almond shaped eyes look smaller, his lips were pressed together and he would wrinkle his nose occasionally as if he was scowling. He looked slightly pissed for no reason as he served drinks to a group of drunks sitting a couple of stools away from Ink, like he found that particular task extremely annoying. Ink wondered if that’s what a resting bitch face would look like if the term applied to dudes too, he also wondered why the hell he found it particularly adorable.  
“Alright, sir, are you ready to make your order?”  
A raspy deep voice interrupted his daydream and he almost had a stroke. He had been so fixated he didn’t even notice that the new bartender had been staring back at him for a while, Ink immediately looked away. ‘Oh god he totally noticed’, the artist mentally screamed into the void, he was now feeling somewhat self conscious and could feel his face getting red. The barman’s annoyed expression deepened at his lack of response.  
“Sir, you’ve been staring for a while, are you gonna order a drink or what.”  
The way he called him sir made him shiver and he felt like a total weirdo for it. Being formal with the customers had never been a requirement for the club employees who worked in the bar area, they were never instructed to call them by ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’. Hell, they weren’t even instructed to be respectful in general, he had heard Nightmare call a couple ‘a nice pair of shitheads’ once and receive absolutely no backlash from his superiors. There was no reason for this dude to act all polite, specially when looking and sounding so pissed.  
“Sir.” He spoke again and his voice grew more exasperated, which made Ink slightly panic.  
“I’ll have two screwdrivers and three shots of tequila,” Ink finally said snapping out of his daze as the stranger pulled out a notepad and a pen from his apron’s pocket to write the order down.  
“Alright sir, anything else?” he asked after writing Ink’s order down, staring at him expectantly while tapping the pen on his notepad.  
“Well... if i’m not too drunk afterwards I would love to have your number.” Ink blurted out.  
The bartender was perplexed, and so was Ink.  
“How about no?” he said slowly, as if he was still processing Ink’s question. “I don’t even know you, but so far you kind of seem like a weirdo, sir.”  
Ouch.  
He wouldn’t accept out loud, but the answer kind of hurt his pride. “Aw come on,” Ink said jokingly, as if the words didn’t mean nothing to him at all. The stranger just stared at him with a deadpan expression. “I may be an absolute weirdo, but you gotta admit i’m still kinda cute.”  
The tall man shook his head, awkwardly turning around to get back to work.  
“I’m gonna make the drinks sir, i’ll be back.”   
Shit, Ink thought, he couldn’t even wait to engage in some small talk or crack a couple of jokes to see if the barman was even capable of smiling before asking for his number. No, of course Ink had to come across as a creep. The stranger served him his drinks, doing his best to avoid the artist’s gaze, he looked flustered. ‘He’s awkward...’ Ink thought as he downed the shot of tequila without even flinching ‘how cute’. He proceeded to take a sip of his screwdriver while following the stranger with his eyes. Man, he sure wished he could just attempt to start another conversation with him but at this point he didn’t have the motivation, his head was getting clouded with intrusive thoughts again. The stranger will have to wait, he thought as he focused his energy on finishing his drinks.

\---

Ink’s head was feeling so light, he feared it would fall down if he decided to shake it. The world was blurry around him and his motions seemed clumsy and slow. He had lost count of how many drinks he had ordered to his favorite stranger, but they had to be over a dozen, consisting of mostly shots of either vodka or tequila, a truly awful combination. But despite his short stature Ink wasn’t a lightweight, he had a surprisingly hard head when it came to alcohol, but at this point he certainly was testing his limits. He downed another shot without hesitation, becoming less functional in the process.  
He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, but he could remember losing consciousness a couple of times, just to wake up to order another shot of something. Ink looked down, looking for a new drink to get a hold of, but all he could find were a bunch of empty shot glasses. His surroundings started to slowly spin around him as he stared at them. Every fiber in his body was desperately trying to get thought his thick skull that he had had enough drinking and had to get home as soon as possible, but his stubbornness wouldn’t let it. So what if he vomited all over himself and passed out on the street, he was having a good time right now and that’s all that mattered. He told himself it was the perfect time for a new round.  
“Hey stranger~” he called loudly while obnoxiously waving his arm. The barman approached him with an unamused stare and Ink propped himself up on his elbows. “I want another shot of tequila pleasee~” He tried not to sound slurry, but at this point, hiding it would have been an impossible task. Ink was obviously intoxicated.  
“No.” The bartender tone was stern, his arms were crossed and he shot a disapproving look towards Ink, which made him feel irritated. Why the hell was he looking at him that way? Of course, hecouldn’t help but complain.  
“What? Why the hell not?”   
“You’re way too fucking drunk.” The bartender stated while rolling his eyes, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it probably was, for everyone except Ink. “You can't properly talk, your movements are all clumsy and i’ll make a wild guess that you can barely walk.”  
“Jesus fucking Christ, i'm fine-“  
“No you’re not, i’m not stupid, i’m not selling you more shots. You’re being disruptive and at this rate you’ll get alcohol poisoning.” The stranger said while placing all of Ink’s empty glasses on a tray to empty the space. He took them to a sink nearby and came back with a wet cloth to wipe the counter. “Also, people should start leaving soon since it’s almost 5 am, go home already.”  
“But i’m tired... ughh, I don’t wanna walk home... let me just drink until I die of alcohol poisoning or something.” Ink whined, pouting as he laid his head down on the counter. “Could you do that cute stranger~”  
“Just call an uber then.” suggested the bartender, flustering and frowning at the compliment; it seemed that both came hand in hand. “If you live close enough it shouldn’t be more than fours bucks.”  
“Ya know I would probably do that if I had the cash.” Ink said as if it was evident.  
“I can't believe you spent your whole damn cash in alcohol.” He sounded completely dumbfounded, Ink felt underestimated.  
“Hey! I still have a couples of bucks left to get myself an extra shot though...” The barman ignored Ink’s words and handed him a yellow notepad and a pen he had stored in the pocket of his black apron. Ink looked down at the paper and then at the bartender puzzled. “You want… my number?”  
“What? No! Just… write your damn address on it, i’m just gonna get you an uber myself.” He explained while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t just let you walk off by yourself, you’re gonna get runover or something.”  
To say Ink was taken aback by that would be an understatement, why did the stranger even bothered. If it was up to nightmare, or the other bartender, they would have let him drink himself to death for all they cared. On those nights Ink would try walking to his apartment, but would be so shitfaced he would end up passing out and waking up the next day in unfamiliar places, trying to find his way back home. The fact he hadn’t been mugged yet or worse was an actual miracle. But this stranger actually gave a shit, at least enough to pay for his damn Uber and help him to get home safely. Ink quietly wrote down his address and gave the notepad back to him. The bartender proceeded to type it down on his phone.  
“I only asked for your address, not your name and number too.” He said annoyed, the artist just chuckled, of course he had to add those, couldn’t pass up that opportunity. “Your cab will arrive around 10 minutes.” The bartender announced as he put his phone back in his pocket. Ink continued staring at him, he wanted to thank him, he wanted to know his name... He truly wanted to know his name. “Hey, stop staring alright? You’re making me nervous, gee…”  
“So… do you have a name or can i call you mine?” Ink could have sworn he didn’t meant to say that, but couldn’t help himself as soon as he started formulating the sentence. His slurred tone didn’t help making it sound better either. God, it was so bad, he regretted ever finding that pick up line on google.  
“What?” The bartender asked, looking at him with an expression that tilted between confusion and annoyance. “And why would I give you that?”  
“Aw, come on man, you have my address now, after all.” Said Ink teasingly as he gave the stranger a weird attempt of a side smile, but the other still seemed unimpressed, damn. Maybe if he was polite, he thought. “I mean… please, I just appreciate this… I just, I don’t wanna call you “the mysterious stranger’ when i retell this story to my grandkids, ya know?”  
By the look he gave him, he thought the bartender would just walk away to focus on any other task if it meant avoiding him, but to his surprise, his expression softened.  
“Fine. You can call me Error, that’s how everyone I know calls me nowadays.” He said, and Ink smiled. They stayed in silent for a moment until Error’s phone started vibrating, he took a quick look. “Seems like your cab is outside.”  
Ink was about to stand up on his own but stopped in his tracks, remembering how drunk he was. He wouldn’t be able to get out of the building on his own, as he could feel his surroundings spinning faster around him, he was bound to fall. “Could I… ya know… lean on you to walk?”  
A panicked expression crossed Error’s face. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that he wasn’t keen to that particular suggestion; he looked around the room, looking for other alternatives. Error’s eyes eventually lit up, as if he had the best idea. He excused himself assuring the drunk individual he would be back and walked in a small room; Ink assumed it was the storage room. The bartender came out pushing a flat shelf utility cart and Ink shot him a look.  
“Listen, you just gotta lay on top of this cart and i’ll push you to your Uber without having to touch you, perfect solution.”  
Ouch. Ink was aware his personal hygiene had been in decline due to his lack of motivation and constant mental health issues. He’d let his hair grow past his shoulders and get all tangled up; he’d been wearing the same outfit for almost five days straight since he couldn’t bring himself to do laundry. He barely showered, his hands looked greasy due to the oils he had been handling earlier and he was pretty sure he also had paint stains all over his arms and face. Did he look nasty enough to the point people didn’t want to even touch him, he wondered. Error seemed to notice his distress.  
“It’s nothing personal, I just have haphephobia and hate touching people, now get on this thing.” He explained and Ink hopped on the utility cart.   
Error pushed him towards the back door since it was the easier way to get out. As fun as rolling the cart through the dancefloor sounded, it wasn’t the practical way to go, that, and the couple of stairs they would have to deal with, explained Error. To their luck, the uber had parked close to where they exited. The bartender opened the car’s backdoor and signaled Ink to get in.   
The fact that he still remained conscious had to be a miracle, the world was spinning faster by the minute. He got off the utility cart, falling down in the process and dragged himself to the car, somehow managing to get inside while Error watched. Finally everything was set, Ink closed the door and lowered the car’s window, the bartender looked exhausted.  
“So... by the way, my name is Ink~” Ink managed to mumble, his speech slowly decreasing. Error shook his head and took the notepad out of pocket yet again.  
“I know, you wrote it over three times along with your number.”  
With that Error went back inside the club to finish his shift and leave, he assumed, and the cab finally went on its way. Ink lied down, closing his eyes and hoping to be lucid enough to puke out the window if he felt the need to.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all probably could notice I had no idea how to end that chapter, that's fine, i'll get better at it hopefully. Updating may take me a while due to the chapter lenght but i'll work on that these couple of weeks.


End file.
